Staff Benda Bilili: Trés Trés Fort (Crammed, 2/23/09)
Staff Benda Bilili: “Sala Keba”
[audio:http://alarm-magazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/4884.mp3|titles=Staff Benda Bilili: “Sala Keba”]The ghettos of Kinshasa, capital city of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, play host to a mélange of survivors. Amongst them is Staff Benda Bilili, a tenacious band of paraplegic musicians, channeling the voices of disenfranchised Congolese into playful rumba melodies. Its members ride atop hand-pedaled tricycles and hustle their songs to any listening ear. It’s all part of their lifestyle and survival strategy, executed with a swagger that just might change the way that the world views and defines disability.
The group is built on the 25-year-old friendship of Coco Gambalé and Ricky Likabu, who have played together since the mid 1980s in bands such as Raka Raka, a backing combo for Afro-pop legend Papa Wemba. In 2002, the two assembled an all-handicapped band with Theo Coude and Paulin Cavalier, musicians that they had come to know through the years. Now in their 50s, the men are intelligent and resourceful, relying on their accumulated knowledge to get by.
“We have always worked with our brains and bare hands,” Likabu says. “We are gifted craftsmen. We can do anything, and we keep our dignity.” Over the course of the 15 years that they’ve known each other, the members of Staff Benda Bilili have developed their sound by leaning on influences that they call “our Congolese fathers”: Franco & OK Jazz, Tabu Ley Rochereau, and Docteur Nico. “James Brown is another great inspiration for us,” Likabu says. “We saw him play in Kinshasa in 1974, and it was a true riot.”
In 2004, Staff Benda Bilili met Roger Landu, a young shége (street kid) who played an instrument that he crafted using a milk-powder tin, fish-basket frame, and electrical wire. Landu is a master of his satongé, a lute-like instrument that spouts out high-pitched vibrations, and he has since become part of the band. “He was living the harsh and brutal life of any shége in Kinshasa,” Likabu says. “One night he came roaming around our rehearsal and started to improvise over our songs. The whole band was amazed. He had the ‘perfect ear.’ We proposed to him to join the band and to live among us.”
“We have always worked with our brains and bare hands. We are gifted craftsmen. We can do anything, and we keep our dignity.”
Released in early 2009, the group’s freshman effort, Trés Trés Fort, is an ode to the street kids, war refugees, prostitutes, and orphans of the Democratic Republic of the Congo — the people whom it regards as “true heroes.” The album title can be understood as “very, very loud” or “very, very strong,” and aptly so. Mid-tempo guitar and lute strings amplify to energetic rumba rhythms, as folksy anecdotes unfold in Lingala and French. The album ebbs and flows from the lulls of tranquil tracks like “Sala Keba” to the frantic, mambo-esque “Moziki” and the rapid percolator “Avramandole.”
In partial chant, partial public-service announcement, the men of Benda Bilili croon and warble warnings against the “curse” of Polio on the track “Polomyelite.” “Parents, please don’t neglect your children,” they sing. “The one who is disabled is no different from the others. Treat all your children without discrimination. Who among them will help you when you are in need? God only knows who.”
The album presents itself as an edict of understanding through storytelling. “We feel that we must speak in their name,” Likabu says of those less fortunate. “Because like all the people who live in the streets of Kinshasa, disabled or not, we have to be strong. We are neglected by the authorities and have to find ways to survive, no matter how.”
To show this incredible story, filmmakers Florent de la Tullaye and Renaud Barret currently are working on a feature-length film documenting Staff Benda Bilili. The exposure that they are sure to receive will hopefully go a long way in realizing the goals that Likabu and his bandmates have set. In English, Staff Benda Bilili translates to “the people who see beyond,” or literally, “put forward what is hidden.” It’s an apt title for men who view others equally — men who want nothing more than the means to house their children and send them to school.
Likabu projects that if Trés Trés Fort is successful, he might see some dreams realized. “We want to rock the world and then go home,” he says. “All of us are fathers of many children, and we want to put them out of trouble. At last, we will be able to pay school fees for all of them and build real homes for us. If the album sells well, we also want to create a Staff Benda Bilili foundation in Kinshasa. We will teach music to the street kids, give wheelchairs to the handicapped. There are so many useful things to do here. It will be a true message of hope to all the disabled people around the world, because you know that we are all disabled people. You are too.”